


All In This Together

by LaughingStones



Category: Motorcity
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Bondage, Burners trying to take care of each other, Collars, Dutch POV, Edging, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Mind Games, Multi, Rape Aftermath, Sort of Comfort Sex, Spanking, Threats, dubcon, noncon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 11:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13546200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: When a mission goes wrong, the Burner boys are captured by Kane. They can’t stop what he’s doing to Mike, but they can refuse to go along with it when he tries to use them against each other, and they can do their best to take care of each other.





	All In This Together

**Author's Note:**

> Being captured and assaulted is a terrible situation, but what happens when multiple people are in it together and they care about each other? How much can they support and help each other when all the power is on the other side? This is the kind of question that nips at the back of my brain sometimes, so I wrote this to find out--how much good could they really do?  
> A surprising amount, it turns out.

Missions into Deluxe are always risky. Halfway through, this one went bad--really bad, worse than Dutch has ever known before. He saw Mike fighting, hugely outnumbered, saw Texas go down and Chuck get pinned and cuffed just before an Elite got Dutch’s omnitool away and slammed him to the ground. The only comfort is that he didn't see Julie anywhere, which means she probably managed to slip away. 

Now he's been chained up in this cell with Chuck and Texas for--he's not sure how long. At least an hour or two.

His head snaps up when the cell door opens. Kane steps in, and Texas makes an angry noise through his gag, struggling uselessly against the shackles on his wrists and ankles again. Dutch glances across the cell at him, then at Chuck, held to the wall opposite the door. Chuck seems to be trying to make himself smaller, shrinking against the wall, breathing fast and panicked. Then he jerks in shock, freezing.

Frowning, Dutch looks back at Kane--and sees the figure following behind him, far too familiar, calm and docile and dressed in white and blue. Mike, eyes hazy, face blank, with a white collar around his neck, little green lights blinking on it.

“Mikey?” Chuck says, voice thin and wavering.

Dutch knows it's a bad idea to be staring in horror, knows they're just giving away that Kane is totally succeeding in messing with their heads like the sadistic jackass wants, but he can't stop. Mike’s face is bruised, he's limping a little, and he doesn't respond to Chuck’s voice, doesn't even seem to notice the Burners chained to the walls in front of him.

What's Kane done to him? Dutch’s stomach curls in on itself.

Kane smiles at the three of them, sharp and satisfied, then raises a screen and taps in a command. Mike gasps and sways on his feet, then moans faintly.

Dutch stares, eyes going round as one of Mike’s hands goes between his legs, rubbing distractedly at the bulge becoming visible there. Chuck makes a choking noise.

“Stop that,” Kane says in a lazy rumble. “Hands behind your back.”

And Mike obeys, unhesitating.

Texas makes a snarling noise and struggles harder. Chuck groans, shaky and dismayed, and Dutch can't blame either of them. Watching Mike obey Kane--heck, watching him stand near Kane without attacking him--is just… _really_ wrong.

“Come here,” Kane says, and Mike steps forward, face still blank, and stops right in front of him. “On your knees.”

Dutch doesn't believe it when Kane’s hands go to his belt and then the fastening of his pants, but Chuck is quicker on the uptake.

“No,” he says, high with shock. “Kane, you sick bastard, you can't do this!”

“Oh, I think I can,” Kane says, and to Mike, on his knees in front of him, “Open your mouth.”

Mike does, and Dutch looks away because the hell with this, he doesn't need to see Kane’s dick and he doesn't need to watch this. Chuck takes a moment longer to drop his head, mouth tight, hands clenching in their shackles, and when Dutch looks at Texas he's still watching, eyes wide and horrified.

“Texas,” Dutch hisses, and Texas tears his gaze away to look at him. “Don't,” Dutch says, and looks pointedly at Chuck, in the opposite direction from Kane. Texas blinks a few times, then furrows his brows in determination and does the same.

“What's wrong, boys?” Kane says, and catches his breath as Mike lets out a muffled moan. Dutch almost glances over to check that he's okay and catches himself just in time. No, Mike’s not okay, but looking isn't going to help any.

“Afraid if you watch, your opinion of your brave leader might be tarnished?” Kane says.

Looking back at him, Texas tries to yell something through his gag, which works about as well as it has the last six times. Then he realizes and jerks his eyes away again.

“Not even close,” Dutch tells Kane coolly without looking at him. “He wouldn't want us seein’ this, so we're not lookin’.”

“What admirable loyalty for thugs and criminals,” Kane sneers. “If you won't look, though, I'll just have to make you listen.”

Dutch’s stomach clenches instinctively, but he's not sure what Kane means until there's the sound of a slap and Mike cries out. Dutch’s head jerks around before he can stop it. Kane is pulling Mike back up to his knees by the hair, his hands still clutched behind his back, and then backhands him, sending him sprawling on his side again with a yelp.

He doesn't reach out to catch himself. It's unnatural to watch. A moment later he's struggling back up to his knees, hands behind him like they're bound there, but they're not, it's just Kane’s order keeping them there.

Mike’s face still has that blank hazy look to it, although now it's mingled with confusion or maybe distress. Dutch swallows.

“Mikey, god,” Chuck whispers.

“What did you do to him,” Dutch says flatly.

“Well, he's not much use in Security anymore,” Kane says, grabbing Mike’s hair again and shaking him once by it. “So I turned him into an obedient little toy. Unfortunately he's not much for complexity like this, but he can follow orders, like ‘hold still’ or ‘bend over’.” He gives Dutch and the others a narrow-eyed smile. “I suspect my executives will enjoy the privilege of testing him out.”

Dutch can't help staring at him, at Mike, sickened and bewildered. How is that even possible? How can Mike be kneeling there obediently, putting up with this treatment from his most hated enemy without the slightest sign of recognition, much less rage and disgust? How can a skinny little collar have that drastic an effect?

“Oh,” Chuck says. “That obedience routine you tried to implement in me before I ditched your program--”

“Before we could trash you like the faulty junk you are,” Kane growls.

“Someone must've perfected it,” Chuck goes on, flinching slightly. “And figured out how to make it work it as an exterior device. Except that doesn't explain the lack of recognition, the--the personality change--”

“Some further additions were necessary to make it function on someone unaugmented, yes,” Kane says, grabbing Mike’s jaw and pushing a thumb into his mouth. Mike moans softly and Dutch jerks his eyes away, disturbed, face warm with shame.

“He doesn't seem drugged,” Chuck says doubtfully.

“Unlike the primitive dump you live in now,” Kane sneers, “we have access to more advanced methods. There's a block on both his short- and long-term memory, and an induced state something like a waking dream.” 

“To make him suggestible,” Chuck says, and swallows. “The original routine would have been permanent, but if this is dependent on the collar--”

“Yes,” Kane says dismissively, “obviously this version needs work before it can be more than temporary, but we'll get there.”

One of the knots in Dutch’s stomach loosens and comes undone, some relief washing through him. It's not permanent, (yet), Mike is still under there, not turned into a mindless slave.

“You realize,” Kane goes on, “it doesn't matter how much you know about the collar when I'm the only one who can remove it.” He hums deep in his chest and Mike makes a muffled sound.

Chuck hunches against the wall and doesn't answer. It was a smart idea to find out what he could, even if Kane caught on. Dutch is pretty sure it's even useful to know that Kane thinks he's the only one who can take the thing off, for later if not now.

Dutch is trying to ignore the quiet noises coming from Kane’s direction, until Kane says, “You're not looking. Just how badly do you want him beaten?”

Chuck flinches, but it's hard to tell if he's looking or not under his hair.

Dutch clenches his jaw and refuses to turn his head towards Kane. “He'd probably prefer that to what you're doin’.”

Kane chuckles. “Interesting. Is it loyalty, or disgust and a _lack_ of concern, I wonder? I could always forego the preliminaries and make him scream. Some electricity, a few simple tools, perhaps a scalpel--Would you prefer that, or do you feel like looking now?”

Dutch swallows hard. He wants to think it's an idle threat, but Kane is nuts, it'd be stupid to assume that. He still doesn't want to look, doesn't want to do anything Kane wants, but...

“Guys,” Chuck says miserably, and jerks his head at Kane.

...They don't really have a choice. Dutch takes a deep breath and looks over, trying to keep his gaze above Mike’s head. Unfortunately, it's still close enough that he can't ignore the movement in his field of vision, Kane thrusting into Mike’s mouth, holding him by the hair again. Mike makes little sounds Dutch really wants not to hear, like he _likes_ this, like he's _enjoying_ sucking Kane’s--except no, he doesn't look at Kane with any more interest and recognition than he does the Burners. He doesn't know who any of them are right now. So that’s not what he's enjoying.

It's got to be the collar still working on him, turning him on, making him feel good. If he doesn't remember who Kane is or what's going on, and he's too dreamy to worry about it, then all he knows is that he feels good and he's having sex. There's no reason for him _not_ to enjoy that, Dutch thinks, rationally speaking.

And maybe it's uncomfortable to be faced with that, but Dutch is pretty sure it's a lot better than if Mike _wasn't_ enjoying himself.

Kane pushes deeper. Mike makes a muffled urgent noise and Kane doesn't move, smiling a little as he rocks shallowly. Fighting the pull of Kane’s hands, Mike jerks back off Kane’s dick, heaving for breath, and Kane’s lips twist. He backhands Mike again.

Texas growls and Dutch swears under his breath.

“Stand up,” Kane says, and Mike scrambles to his feet, dazed and not quite looking at Kane. “Strip.”

Oh god. Dutch dares to close his eyes for a moment. He wonders where Julie is, if she's got a plan with the rest of them captured, if her cover’s still intact. It's got to be, she has to be okay--if she'd been caught or found out Kane would be raving over his daughter's betrayal, not playing mind games. She's safe, she got away. He has to believe that.

When he opens his eyes, Mike is shirtless and taking his shoes off, balancing easily on one foot at a time. He pulls his pants and briefs off, folds them, and glances around, looking confused for a second before draping them over his shoes beside his neatly folded shirt. Then he stands up straight, naked and gorgeous, waiting for orders. His olive skin is splashed with darkening bruises across his ribs, his legs, his belly. His dick is hard and ready, but he's not even there behind his eyes, he still looks hazy and half-aware and Dutch kind of wants to scream.

Kane has tucked himself away again and gives no sign of discomfort at the bulge in his pants. He looks Mike over thoughtfully, eyes lingering, then glances over at Dutch and the other two and smiles. A chill goes through Dutch.

“I can be generous, you know,” Kane says to them.

 _Great, how bout letting us go_ , Dutch doesn't say. He tightens his lips and glares.

“The question is, which one of you should I share my toy with,” Kane muses.

Dutch knows it's stupid to give him a reaction, but his mouth drops open anyway. Chuck whimpers and presses back against the wall and Kane’s eyes go to him, the smile grows, considering.

Dutch bares his teeth at Kane. “You’re _sick_ , man.”

Kane looks at him and his eyes are cold above the amused smile. “Excellent, a volunteer.”

He grabs Mike by the shoulder and pushes him over in front of Dutch. “Kneel,” he says, and Mike drops promptly to his knees again.

Wide-eyed, Dutch stares down at him and swallows, stomach twisting. Mike naked on his knees is a gorgeous picture, is the thing, but the context is just about as wrong as it can get.

Kane reaches out to unfasten Dutch’s belt and Dutch tries to jerk away, but chained like this there's not much way to escape, and Kane’s casual backhand has him slumping back against the wall, dizzy. He could try to kick, his ankles aren't cuffed, unlike Texas’s, but that's because Dutch isn't a fighter and trying wouldn't get him very far. Across the cell, Texas snarls, struggling again. Guy's going to have a wicked set of bruises, he just doesn't give up.

Chuck is breathing way too fast, pressed against the wall whispering, “Oh god oh god oh god no, no no no…” in a steady stream.

Dutch’s pants are open. Kane smiles up at him, puts a hand on Mike’s head and says, “Get him hard and suck him off.”

Mike reaches up and pulls out Dutch’s dick, which isn't even a little hard, thanks, this is not the kind of situation that turns him on, except Mike is touching him now, so that's about to change. Dutch jerks his head up to stare at the ceiling, so at least he's not watching as Mike starts licking and sucking him.

Not watching doesn't seem to help much. Dutch can't keep his breathing steady, it feels so good, even with his stomach twisting up. He's not even aware that he's looking down until he sees Mike’s half-lidded eyes, sees the contented, exploratory way he's working Dutch up with his mouth and his hands. Dutch can't look away. He was right, Mike really likes this, which would be great if he had any idea it was Dutch he was getting hard.

“He's good with his mouth, isn't he,” Kane says, stepping back and crossing his arms. “It's enough to make me wonder what he spends his free time doing down there. Not you, by the look on your face,” he says to Dutch, who curls a lip at him. “And not the other two, either.”

God, Kane shouldn't be watching this. This shouldn't be _happening_. Mike doesn't even know what's going on, god, this is so messed up. Dutch isn't even sure if he should hope Mike doesn't remember any of this when he gets the collar off, or if that would be worse.

He's completely hard now, but Mike is still licking at the spot just under the head, sucking on the tip, going slow and enjoying the trip. Shivery little shocks of pleasure keep going up Dutch’s spine. He closes his eyes for a moment, opens them again. It's weird that he can be so turned on and so sick and horrified at the same time. It doesn't seem like that should work; one feeling should cancel out the other one, somehow. 

He can't help but wonder how much of the slow pace is thanks to the daze Mike's in, how differently he'd do this if he was doing it willingly. Probably not something Dutch should be thinking about at all right now.

“From the look of it, he stands on a street corner somewhere, letting anyone use his mouth who wants to,” Kane drawls.

Dutch’s head snaps up. “Shut up,” he says, glowering at Kane.

Kane’s eyes narrow and the amusement vanishes from his face. “Watch your mouth,” he says, voice a dangerous rumble. “Or I will make this considerably less pleasant for all of you.”

Dutch drops his gaze back to Mike’s peaceful, dreamy face and swallows. He wants to say _don't talk about him like that_ , but keeps it to himself. He's not getting any of them into worse trouble.

Mike hums softly and pulls Dutch into his mouth, and _god_ he's good at this. One hand working below his mouth, the other cupping Dutch’s balls, stroking them gently, he sucks and uses his tongue just right and Dutch barely catches a moan before it makes it out. God, his knees are going weak, he's not gonna last long.

It feels incredible, and it's even better that it's Mike, and Dutch hates Kane for forcing them both into it like this. He doesn't want to come, doesn't want to give Kane the satisfaction, but at least it'll be over then.

“Stop,” Kane says.

Mike pulls off Dutch, lets go and sits back. Panting for breath, Dutch closes his eyes to keep from glaring at Kane or staring at the shine on Mike's reddened lips. This is good, this is _good_ , he doesn't want to come. He doesn't want Kane playing with him, either, him _or_ Mike. Too bad neither of them get a choice about that. 

“Continue,” Kane says, and Mike leans up and starts working again right where he left off. Dutch slumps back against the wall, closed eyes stinging, despair lodged in his throat like a lump of concrete.

After a few more minutes, Dutch is so close it's taking all his concentration not to thrust into Mike’s mouth. His breath shudders, his chest is hot and tight with rage and disbelief, and it's all he can do to stubbornly force back tears. The pleasure of everything Mike’s doing is such a surreal contrast it's disorienting.

“Hold still,” Kane says, and raises a screen, fingers flicking across it as Mike obediently freezes in place.

Dutch bites back a groan. Even Mike’s tongue is holding still, his mouth warm and wet around Dutch. And then he twitches, makes a startled noise, and pulls off. For a second he stares up at Dutch and Dutch’s eyes go wide with combined relief and horror because he's _awake_ , startled and bewildered and what a thing to wake up to, of course Kane would pull something like this--

“Mike,” Dutch says in a cracked voice, and nothing else makes it out, not even an apology, not that Mike is waiting for one.

Mike's eyes narrow on the shackles around Dutch’s wrists, and then he's on his feet, turning to face Kane, coiling to leap.

Chuck’s “Mikey, no!” overlaps with Dutch’s “ _Mike!_ ” and Mike pauses, reins himself in, maybe recognizing that naked isn't the best way to fight a guy twice your size. Maybe realizing that there's no point when he's got your friends chained up behind you.

“Real cute,” Mike says to Kane, his voice a little rough. “You should have left my friends out of this.”

Dutch closes his eyes again for a second, breathtakingly relieved even as Kane laughs, because Mike doesn't blame Dutch, it's okay, they're still okay. After all that, the relief is almost enough to break through his defenses, but he breathes in deep and shoves down the shaky feeling in his gut, opens eyes that are only a little damp.

“Now where's the fun in that?” Kane pauses, smiling, and gives Dutch a considering look, glancing at his hard-on. “Don't you think you should finish what you started?”

Mike crosses his arms. “I prefer to work without an audience. Pretty sure Dutch understands.”

Kane’s smile goes sharp. “I'm not as forgiving. Finish it.”

“No,” Mike says, voice hard.

“You realize I could just reactivate the collar and you'd have no choice.”

“If you wanted to do that, we wouldn't be talking right now,” Mike says, unmoved. “You want me to obey you _without_ the collar, and it's driving you nuts that I won't.”

“Oh, you will,” Kane says. “Given adequate motivation, you'll obey.”

Mike snorts. “You think I care about threats? I can deal with anything you throw at me. It's not gonna change my mind.”

“What makes you think I would threaten _you?_ ” Kane says, and smiles past Mike at the other Burners.

Mike doesn't answer, eyes narrowing.

Dutch swallows. That's not right, Kane shouldn't be able to use them as hostages against Mike--they're rebels too, not helpless civilians or something. “We can handle it, too.”

Kane arches his brows in an incredulous look. “Really,” he says to Dutch. “If I put this collar on you and call a few Elites in here for some stress relief, you won't mind that at all?”

Oh god, that does not sound like fun, but Dutch can't just stand here and let him threaten Mike, he's gotta have Mike's back just like Mike's got all of theirs. He pulls in a breath to steady his voice and meets Kane’s eyes. “Looks like I won't know much about whatever happens while the collar’s activated, so, no big deal.”

Mike shoots him a sideways glance too brief for Dutch to read.

Kane flicks a dubious brow, turning back to Mike. “Does that sound like fun, watching while you're chained in his place?”

Mike’s lips press together and he doesn't respond. His dick is still standing up rigid, flushed and unflagging, so it looks like the part of the collar that forces arousal is still on.

Kane’s slight smile stretches wide. “Or even better,” he says, looking over at Chuck. “I'll override your little friend the failed prototype. It shouldn't take more than a minute or two to get around whatever failsafes he's put in place, and then I can use him however I like while this one,” he glances at Dutch, “serves the loud-mouth. You'll enjoy watching that, I'm sure.”

Shoulders around his ears, Chuck is trying to disappear behind his hair. Dutch looks over at Texas and Texas stares back in distress. Then they both look at Mike. Dutch at least is trying to convey that he could handle it, it wouldn't be a problem, but Mike isn't looking at him.

Mike’s head drops and he takes a deep breath. “Fine,” he says tightly, looking up to glare at Kane. “Don't mess with them.”

“Obey my orders and I won't need to,” Kane says, and Mike jerks a nod.

“Mike,” Chuck says, high and shaky but determined. “You don't have to. Dutch is right, we could--”

“Don't, Chuck,” Mike says, shaking his head once. He doesn't look away from Kane, and Dutch glances over to see Chuck bite his lip and sag in the shackles. Dutch can't tell if it's relief or dismay or both.

Honestly, Dutch gets it. Better for Mike to deal with Kane than be the only one that gets left alone. It's simple math, one in exchange for three.

That's not going to make whatever Kane does to him any easier for them to watch, though.

“Good,” Kane says. “Now, why don't you take care of your friend, there.” He tilts his head at Dutch.

Dutch tightens his lips in exasperation to hide the flicker of panic. Really?! It's not like he's even hard anymore.

Mike’s expression darkens. “I _said_ , leave them out of this!”

Kane smiles. “I suppose I could turn the collar back on. Have you service all three of them, deactivate it briefly at the end of each to make sure you know about it. Which is better, Chilton, one like this, or all three thanks to your reluctance?”

Mike struggles with it a moment, facing Kane down, then turns to Dutch. He steps in close, dark eyes distressed on Dutch’s face. 

“Sorry about this,” he says, low-voiced, and… oh _._ Dutch licks his lips. It's not like Mike _needs_ to apologize, none of this is his fault, but it helps anyway, scales back the panicky trapped feeling. They're in this together.

Which actually suggests a way to change what they're focusing on in this messed up situation. Sure it could backfire, but Dutch has to try.

He snorts, smiling a little. “Man, don't be. If I'd known I just needed to get tied up first, I would've tried _ages_ ago.”

Mike blinks and goes wide-eyed, then lets out a startled bark of laughter. Much to Dutch’s surprise, he leans up to kiss Dutch, who eagerly returns it. Even Kane standing there in outrage can't ruin finally getting to kiss Mike after crushing on him for a good year.

“Stop stalling!” Kane snaps.

Another second and Mike pulls back, smiling. Dutch grins back at him, kind of giddy, and murmurs, “Kissin’ is stalling? Guy doesn't get laid much, does he?”

Mike snickers, then grunts as Kane’s fist closes in his hair and drags him backwards. 

“Maybe I failed to make myself clear,” Kane says in a low, deadly voice. “Obey my orders promptly and without additions, or your friends will suffer. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Mike says through his teeth.

Kane lets him go with a shove, and Mike stumbles, catching himself with a hand on Dutch’s chest. His eyes flick up to meet Dutch’s and then he's going to his knees without breaking eye contact and a dizzying flush of heat goes through Dutch, confusing against the resurgence of rage at Kane.

Mike tugs Dutch’s pants a little wider open and grabs his dick, dark ruddy brown against Mike’s paler brown-gold hand. He looks up through his lashes as he licks the head, and Dutch is suddenly gasping for breath, staring down at him like he's never seen him before. Dutch has always known Mike Chilton is hot like burning, but he's never seen him do something like that before. Of course, he's never seen him suck dick before today, either.

Despite Kane watching, despite the bad situation and the bruises on Dutch’s wrists under the shackles, he gets hard a lot faster this time. Mike keeps looking up at him, doing ridiculously sexy things with his tongue and his lips, and the smug look he gives Dutch before finally going down on him is just unfairly cute.

Eyes rolling back in his head, Dutch makes a mental note to complain about that later.

He thought Mike was good before, but holy smokes, he hadno idea what the guy could do with his full attention on it. Dutch is panting in minutes, hips jittering against Mike’s restraining hand as he tries to keep from thrusting. _Man_ he wishes he could reach down and touch him, run his hands through Mike’s hair, stroke his face all careful. 

“Mike, oh my _god_ ,” he groans.

From off to the side, Chuck makes a very quiet sound, a whimper that's mostly breath. Dutch slides a glance at him and what's visible of his freckled face under the bangs is flushed red, although it's impossible to tell if he's looking. Dutch really hopes he is and he's enjoying the view, because the alternative is that he's incredibly uncomfortable, which would make sense but also suck.

Dutch wastes a minute wishing he could kiss Chuck, too, wishing he knew if that would help or make Chuck freak out for sure. Pointless to think about just now, especially when Mike is curling his tongue like that, holy _crap_. 

Gasping for breath, Dutch looks straight ahead at Texas, who absolutely _is_ enjoying the view, by the way his wide eyes flicker from Mike, naked and kneeling, up to Dutch’s face and back. At his angle, the action is blocked by the back of Mike’s head, but Texas is staring like it doesn't matter, like he's finally developed that x-ray vision he keeps hoping for.

Well, good. Mike and Dutch are both having as much fun with this as anyone could, Texas is allowed to appreciate it too.

Eyes back on Mike, Dutch doesn't realize there's a dazed grin stretching his own mouth until Kane gives an irritated sigh and says, “Stop.”

Mike pauses for a long moment before reluctantly pulling off, which Dutch finds pleasing beyond Mike not wanting to leave him hanging. Not only does Mike like sucking dick, he _might_ specifically like sucking Dutch’s dick.

“How does it feel?” Kane says to Mike, who's still kneeling in front of Dutch. “Knowing that your friend is perfectly happy to make use of you? This is the quality of the thugs you've surrounded yourself with down there.”

Mike snorts. “He's not using me. And my _friends_ aren't thugs.” He throws Kane a dark look.

Kane’s eyes narrow. “Stand up,” he says, and Mike slowly does. “Him next,” Kane says, jerking his head at Chuck, and Mike stiffens.

“You _said_ \--” he starts, furious, and Kane steps forward and wraps a powerful hand around Dutch’s throat, squeezing just a little. Dutch curls his lip, helpless. His heart is pounding in terror and anger, hands twitching in their shackles.

Bad enough to torment people while they're chained and imprisoned, bad enough to mistreat Mike and bully and threaten him and Dutch into things, but to then bring Chuck into it? Chuck, who’s scared so much of the time and does everything they need him to anyway, Chuck, who’s brilliant and cute and flusters so easy, who seems so fragile even if Dutch knows he's stronger than he looks. _Fuck_ Kane for messing with him.

“How many times do we need to cover this, Chilton?” Kane growls. “Follow orders, or your friends will pay for it.”

Mike’s hands clench to fists and a muscle in his jaw flexes, but he turns his back on Kane and moves slowly over to Chuck. Kane lets go of Dutch with a small, self-satisfied smile.

Chuck’s face is blotchy red and he's breathing fast, his mouth a little open. He whimpers as Mike approaches, but doesn't say anything.

Mike steps up to him and leans in to murmur something brief in his ear, and Chuck lets out a cracked, startled laugh as Mike sinks to his knees.

“Oh my god,” he squeaks, and gasps as Mike gets his jeans open, baring a flash of creamy pale stomach. “Yeah, uh, as you please, my knight-- _ahh!_ ”

Oh. Dutch’s eyebrows go up and he relaxes a little. That's smart, to get Chuck’s head into a place where something completely different is going on, his LARP character having an encounter with Mike’s. Could make this easier for him.

Mike goes to work on Chuck, who makes a lot of noise, moaning and gasping and whimpering in a high voice that cracks and breaks. By the way he bites his lips he's obviously trying to muffle himself, but not with much success. Dutch has to take a slow breath, his dick twitching. Those eager, desperate sounds aren't doing anything to help his hard-on go down. He tries not to wonder what it'd take to make Chuck scream like he does in Mike’s car, except in a good way. This is not the time.

Dutch glances sideways without moving his head and Kane is watching with narrowed eyes, looking displeased. Well, of course he is; he keeps trying to use the Burners against each other, and that's not gonna work. Mike’s not going to be humiliated by sucking them off, and even if they're not thrilled by the attention from Mike, (which, uh, except for the rest of the situation he and Chuck both obviously are), they're not about to blame _him_ for Kane’s head games. They all want each other to be okay, and Kane doesn't know how to deal with that.

Kane’s mouth curls into a smirk and Dutch’s stomach drops. Looks like he just got an idea about that.

Raising a screen, Kane taps a few things and Mike jerks suddenly, grunts and pulls away from Chuck, moving sharp and unsteady. “No,” he says, one foot on the floor, ready to get off his knees, and then he just--stops. Sways once and goes still, all the tension draining out of his muscles. Dutch can't see his face, but by the way Chuck moans, shaky and distressed, it's got that blank look again. Texas makes an angry noise.

Dutch drops his head, stares at the floor for a second. Every time they get a handle on things, Kane turns it around on them and makes everything terrible again. It's weird how along with the fear and anger and everything, it just makes Dutch really tired suddenly, worn thin.

“Now,” Kane says, “go back to what you were doing.” Mike twitches and looks around, confusion clear even through the dazed expression, and Kane sighs impatiently. “Suck him off.”

The confusion clears and Chuck whimpers miserably. Mike turns back to him, and for a moment Dutch gets a clear view of Chuck’s dick, fully hard and flushed red and this is not the time to be noticing how much bigger he is than Dutch expected, but _dang_. He wrenches his gaze away as Mike leans in and gets his mouth on it again, humming softly in satisfaction.

Chuck still makes a lot of noise as Mike keeps going, but none of it sounds happy. He chokes and gasps and whimpers and it sounds like he's barely winning the struggle against tears--or maybe not winning at all. Dutch’s jaw clenches and he closes his eyes, that weird exhaustion spiked through with rage. He wants to smash up this cell with his bare hands, wants to _kill_ Kane.

When Kane calls Mike off again, leaving Chuck gasping for breath, still hard, Dutch is tempted to comment on how rude it is to push your edging kink on people without warning, just to piss Kane off, but that's obviously a really stupid plan. None of them need this to get any worse. He keeps his mouth shut as Kane calls Mike over and studies him thoughtfully, standing blank-faced and calm, naked except for the collar around his neck.

Kane steps to one side and points. “Stand here.” Then he looks at the other three, smiling as Mike obeys. “The question is, should I use him like this, or turn the collar off again?”

Dutch glares and says nothing. Chuck is still panting and doesn't answer either. The ragged way he's breathing, he could be crying, Dutch can't tell with his head hanging, his face hidden behind blond bangs.

Kane waits a moment, then tilts his head. “I'm sure you remember our discussion about scalpels.”

Dutch hisses through his teeth, anger mixing weirdly with the eddy of tired despair. It doesn't matter if there's no point in playing Kane’s games, they have to or he's going to hurt Mike worse.

“Turn the collar off,” he says, “and leave him the hell alone!”

“That wasn't one of the options,” Kane says, amused. He steps over to the wall and taps something into the interface there. “Hands up,” he says to Mike, and Mike stretches his arms over his head as a pair of shackles descends from the middle of the ceiling. Another set emerges from the floor near his feet. Kane watches him a moment, smiling lazily, then directs him to put them on.

Dutch watches helplessly as Mike stoops to do his feet, spreading his legs to get the shackles on. Straightening, he gets one wrist secured, then looks confused, trying to manage the other with one hand. Kane lets him struggle for a moment before stepping in to do it for him.

Then he smiles over Mike’s shoulder, meeting Dutch’s eyes. “Collar on or off?”

Dutch bares his teeth. “I'm not picking one unless you're gonna stop touchin’ him!”

Kane pretends to look thoughtful for a moment. “I suppose I could stop. Put the collar on one of you for a while, let him watch. Or just leave him like this and call in Red. I know Red's looking forward to a reunion.”

Dutch stays quiet, eyes narrow with rage. Texas snarls through his gag.

Kane smiles at Dutch again. “No? I guess you'd better pick one of the other two.”

“I'm not gonna--”

“On,” Chuck says in a quiet, rasping voice. Dutch looks over in disbelief. He's glad Chuck is still together enough to dare to speak up, but _what?_

“Man, are you outta your--”

“If he's going to fuck him,” Chuck says, “with the collar on Mike won't care.”

Dutch hesitates. That's true, but it feels really wrong to go along with anything that has Mike mindlessly obedient like this.

“Very clever,” Kane rumbles, “just like the sly little bot you are.”

Dutch curls his lip at Kane as Chuck hunches. It _was_ clever, thanks, because Chuck’s a really smart guy.

Kane gets his dick out, strokes it hard, and steps up behind Mike. He doesn't bother with lube or anything, just shoves in with one stroke, and Dutch bites down on his lip hard.

Mike moans eagerly as Kane starts moving, though, he doesn't sound like it hurts. He definitely felt it when Kane was hitting him earlier, it's not like the collar is messing with his senses. So why…

Dutch swallows hard as he gets it. Kane is moving way too smooth and easy, like Mike was slick and stretched and ready for him. Kane did this once already, when the collar was on before they came in. And Mike doesn't know, just like he won't know about this.

Stomach twisting, Dutch drops his head and closes his eyes. No matter how bad this seems, it keeps getting worse.

“No,” Chuck says suddenly. “Kane, no! Don't!”

Dutch looks up to see Kane with a screen raised, his hand paused in front of it.

“No?” Kane says. “Shall I override you, bend you over in front of your friends instead?”

Chuck flinches back against the wall, breathing hard. His pants are still open, his dick hanging out soft and vulnerable, just like Dutch’s at this point.

“No,” he says, voice shaky, “no, please. No overrides.”

Dutch bites back a warning hiss, because it's not like it'll do any good when Kane can hear it. Chuck should know better than this, however freaked out he is, shouldn't be letting Kane know exactly where his weak spot is. It's like dropping raw meat in front of a pack of mutant rats.

Sure enough, Kane pauses, eyes narrowed thoughtfully before he sneers. “Like I thought,” he says. “You'll sacrifice him in your place without a second thought.”

Chuck makes a high, unsteady noise and drops his head. Texas growls something incomprehensible and Dutch just shakes his head. They all know exactly how pissed Mike will be if one of them tries to make a deal like that. The fact that Dutch is relieved to see Kane’s attention pass over Chuck and fix on Mike again is kinda sick, but--as bad as this is, seeing Chuck in Mike’s place would be worse. Dutch doesn't even want to think about it. Mike is tough in more ways than the obvious.

Kane’s fingers move over the screen and Dutch sees the awareness come back into Mike’s eyes, sees them widen, his mouth dropping open on a gasp as his arms jerk against the shackles. With a sick clench of his stomach, Dutch sees Mike realize who's standing behind him, moving in him.

“Kane,” Mike snarls, yanking at his wrists and ankles.

Kane chuckles, hands rough on his hips, dragging him back into every thrust.

Mike takes a harsh breath, visibly forces down the rage, and aims a cocky smile over his shoulder. “What's wrong, Abe, you didn't think your threats were enough to hold me?”

“Maybe, maybe not,” Kane says with a grunt, “but this is more enjoyable.”

Mike lets out a huff with Kane’s next stroke, eyelashes fluttering before his eyes dart anxiously from Dutch to Chuck to Texas. When he pulls the smile back on, it looks false, thin.

“You know, using the collar to make it better is kinda cheating, dude.”

“You're right,” Kane says, voice genial, and pulls up that screen again. “I would hate to have you think I need to cheat to win.”

Dutch can't tell what he does, but Mike’s eyes go round in dismay. He doesn't say anything in response, mouth tight, and after a moment goes by with no sound but skin against skin, Kane laughs.

“Did you think I wouldn't turn off the collar, or did you think this wouldn't feel good without the artificial pleasure?”

Mike’s lip curls, but he doesn't answer. His eyes are on the floor near Chuck’s feet and he's not looking up.

“Both, then,” Kane says, and stops thrusting so hard, rocking gently in and out. “I think you'll find,” he says in that deep, pleased voice, “that it can feel very good, if I let it.”

Mike shivers all over, chest heaving with his breath. The visible effort that goes into his smile this time is painful. “Yeah? In exchange for what? You're not the type to give something for nothing, so what's the price?”

Kane laughs again, an amused rumble. “In this particular case, I think I can afford to be generous.”

The look on Mike’s face, fury and disgust running headlong into despair, has Dutch closing his eyes. He wants Mike to just--ignore the circumstances, take what he can get from it, if Kane is making it good then _enjoy_ it, but he's not sure anyone could do that. He sure couldn't if Kane had _him_ strung up naked.

“Oh no,” Kane says, “don't look away. You three should enjoy the show. Especially since I may not feel like sharing this time.”

“Good,” Chuck mutters very quietly, and Dutch shoots him an incredulous look because has he _lost his mind?_ All he had to do was keep his mouth shut, and instead he's signaling Kane exactly how to get to him.

And yeah, that caught Kane’s attention. He gives Chuck a considering look over Mike’s shoulder, hips pulsing into Mike.

“I suppose I could be persuaded to change my mind,” he says to Chuck. “Instead of playing with you _myself_ on override, I could order you to do--oh, all kinds of things to him. That might be entertaining.”

Chuck is shrinking back against the wall, shoulders up, shaking his head over and over again in small, jerky motions. If he'd just play it off, act like it wouldn't bother him that much, Kane might lose interest, but this is making him more intrigued.

“Kane,” Mike says, hard and sharp, “you said if I cooperated you wouldn't mess with them.”

...And now Chuck’s fate is sealed. Mike is the one Kane is really focused on, and anything he reacts to, Kane is going to use. Dutch keeps his anguished groan internal, even though that's gonna be horrible to watch, because it's not like he can blame Mike for trying to protect the rest of them, however ineffectively. The guy is not exactly in a position to think clearly right now.

“And I won't touch him,” Kane says. “ _He'll_ be messing with _you_. I'll just be giving the orders.”

Mike bares his teeth, arms tensing and jerking against the shackles. “You--” he snarls, so angry it takes him a moment to find words. “You worthless, lying, sadistic-- _nnh!_ Stop it!”

Dutch expected a punch or a slap, something harsh, but Kane just grabs Mike’s dick to stroke it gently, teasingly, and by the look on Mike’s face that's worse. His hips twitch away, back against Kane, and he makes a choked noise as Kane thrusts into him harder.

“Mm, yes,” Kane says, “feel free to struggle. Very nice.”

Jaw clenched, Mike lowers his head. Dutch looks away, sick and infuriated with his own helplessness.

Texas’s eyes are squeezed closed, his black hair falling around his face. He's finally stopped yanking against his shackles, but it's impossible to tell if the red around his wrists is some hellish bruises coming in, or if he's scraped himself up enough to bleed. Dutch really hopes the guy hasn't done himself any permanent damage.

Chuck is still pressed back against the wall, head down, face hidden behind his bangs. Dutch goes cold thinking of Kane overriding him, using him like a puppet to mess with Mike. Maybe Kane will have lost interest by the end of this, maybe he'll save it for later and they'll be gone by then, Julie will save them. (Please, Julie, she's got to, they can't rescue themselves chained to the walls.)

“You boys have a terrible memory,” Kane says. “Watch, or are you that interested to know what he sounds like screaming?”

“I don't scream that easy,” Mike says hoarsely.

“I didn't say anything about _easy_ ,” Kane purrs.

Chuck’s head lifts slowly. Texas’s eyes open in a furious glower as he turns his head to face Kane. Dutch reluctantly follows their example.

Mike's head is still down, Kane’s hand still on his dick, stroking more firmly now. Breathing harshly, Mike is getting close, from the jerky way his hips are moving, and obviously resisting it as hard as he can.

“They'll remember this, you know,” Kane says to Mike. “For the rest of their short lives, they'll remember you naked and helpless on my dick. You know what they're seeing when they look at you?” He lowers his voice. “A failure. Someone who couldn't protect what's important. Someone who fell down on the job, and this is the result.”

Mike twitches, and Dutch can only see a tilted profile of his face, eyes hidden behind his bangs, but from the way his lips twist it looks like that hit home. Dutch flushes hot all over with rage, but to his shock, Chuck gets there first.

“No, he's not, you dickhead,” he says, shaky but clear. “Mike didn't fail at anything, and he's never fallen down on the job in his life. It's not his fault you've got more resources than we do, or that you're an evil bastard with a grudge--”

Kane lets go of Mike’s dick, grabs his nipple, pinches viciously and twists. Mike jerks but doesn't make a sound. Chuck stops mid-sentence, mouth open in dismay.

“Perhaps I've been too lenient,” Kane says, eyeing Chuck over Mike’s shoulder. “I'll take care of that in a minute.”

Dutch closes his eyes for just a second. He can't blame Chuck, especially when Dutch was about to say something probably more hotheaded himself. Damn if it's not horrible to have someone pay for it, though, whether it's Mike or Chuck.

Kane starts moving a lot faster, slamming into Mike, big hands hard on his hips to hold him still for every thrust. Mike’s mouth is tight and he keeps his eyes on the floor. When Kane comes, he bites down on Mike’s shoulder at the base of his neck, and Dutch sees dark toothmarks when he finally pulls away.

“Now,” Kane says, putting himself back together and doing up his belt, “to clarify that backtalk will not be tolerated.” Eyes narrow, he looks from Dutch to Chuck, ignoring Texas, and smiles. He flicks up a familiar little screen and taps something, and Mike kind of spasms, a low noise wrenched out of him. 

He gasps a few times and manages, “Feeling good is supposed to be a warning?”

“No, no,” Kane says lazily, running a hand down Mike's back so he twitches and leans away. “That's just to get your attention. For the warning… hmm.” He smiles around at them again, pulls his hand back and raises it, bringing it down with a _crack_ on Mike’s ass. Mike twitches and lets out a huff.

Kane smacks him again, again, putting all the strength of his massive arms behind every strike so Mike sways on his feet, tugging at the shackles on his wrists to keep his balance. Dutch stares in disbelief, but it's still what's happening. Kane is _spanking_ Mike like a disobedient kid, like he's got any right to punish him in the first place. Smiling narrow and pleased, he watches the three other Burners over Mike’s shoulder and keeps going.

Mike’s head is down, his jaw set. He steadies himself against the rhythmic blows, takes a breath and says, “Kinda gettin’ mixed messages here. Pretty sure the collar’s messing up your warning.”

“Oh, I think it comes through clearly enough,” Kane says.

Mike’s lips twitch back from gritted teeth for a moment and his only answer is a hard breath out. He's still not looking up from the floor. Dutch’s eyes slip down involuntarily to the dark-flushed erection Mike’s had almost since he walked in. Yeah, being turned on during all this has got to be messing with his head. Trust Kane to find a way to turn even pleasure into something horrible.

Kane is still watching Texas, Chuck and Dutch, smiling. “You should consider,” he tells them over the sharp noise of skin hitting skin, “how much worse it could be, if I wanted. I could turn the collar back on and station him in my office, offer him to everyone who comes in to report to me. Better yet, I could send him down to a particularly productive department as a reward. I could even have the footage piped in here to keep you three entertained. Doesn't that sound like fun?”

Chuck makes a wavery whimpering noise and Texas snarls through his gag. Dutch clenches his teeth.

“Not really,” he says, because he knows by now it'll get worse if no one answers.

Kane laughs and doesn't stop, one hard slap after another. Mike’s ass is going to be raw, and it's not fair, he hasn't done anything to deserve it, he's tried so hard to do everything Kane ordered. Dutch’s hands tighten into fists, twitching against the shackles, and he keeps his eyes on what he can see of Mike’s face, because Kane will notice if he looks away and it seems like less of a violation than staring at his dick.

By the time Kane stops, Mike’s breathing harshly, not quite crying out but barely biting back noises. His skin gleams with sweat.

Kane smacks him one last time, grabs him by the hair and pulls his head up just in time for his eyes to go round as a startled sound comes out of him. His hips shift and rock and his face twists, eyes clamping shut, and it takes Dutch a minute to realize Kane’s other hand is behind Mike, must be pumping fingers into him. Kane lets go of his hair to grab his dick and Mike jolts, eyes snapping open again in horror.

“ _Ah!_ Don't--” he pants, and cuts himself off, biting his lip as Kane chuckles.

“Oh, you're going to come,” Kane assures him. “That perverse streak of yours tripped you up again, didn't it. The pain just got you closer. You don't get to ignore that, pretend somehow this isn't affecting you.”

“You think that's going to break me?” Mike says, and Dutch closes his eyes a second, because the defiance would be more effective if Mike’s voice wasn't strained and shaking.

“Hmm,” Kane says, and doesn't answer right away.

Mike jerks and gasps and comes in a long, spasming shudder.

“No,” Kane says thoughtfully as Mike finishes and sags in his shackles. “That won't.” He pulls his hands away, wipes them on Mike’s back. “But I think this might,” he says, smiling at Chuck, and Dutch swallows hard.

Chuck shrinks back against the wall, cringing away as Kane steps past Mike. Dutch can hear Chuck panting in panic, and the smile that spreads across Kane’s face says he's enjoying it.

“ _No!_ ” Mike snarls, still breathing hard from his climax. “Leave him alone! Look, I--I'll do what you want! I'll stop fighting you, that's what you want, isn't it?”

Kane pauses, tilting his head to consider. Chuck goes still like he's hoping Kane will forget about him and agree, which is weird, because that sounds really bad to Dutch. But then, the alternative is also terrible and involves an override, which Chuck is apparently terrified of.

“Tempting,” Kane says, “but I think this will be even more fun.”

Chuck makes a tiny frightened noise and Kane’s smile broadens.

“Kane, _no_ ,” Mike says, “you can't!”

“Let me see,” Kane says to Chuck, pulling up a screen, “I've forgotten what your control code was. Failed projects… yes, here it is.”

“ _Kane!_ ” Mike says. He has to know that he can't stop this, doesn't he? All he can do is make it worse. Kane is probably enjoying the proof of how crazy this is making him, how far he'd go to protect Chuck.

Dutch is feeling kind of crazy himself by now, but he can't think of any way to help Chuck _or_ Mike. His wrists are burning and he realizes that he's been tensing his arms without even noticing, pulling against his shackles.

“So much for your failsafes,” Kane says, ignoring Mike completely as his hands move over the screen, and Chuck shudders and groans quietly. “ _Executive override_ ,” Kane says, and reads off a string of numbers. Chuck jerks all over and straightens up like he's being pulled, twitching faintly. Kane dismisses the screen, steps forward and stops in front of him.

Chuck stands at his full height, breath slowing and coming more evenly, a shiver running through him every now and then. Kane looks him over, taking his time, and Chuck doesn't hunch or cringe under the attention. He doesn't move except for his breathing.

Dutch’s stomach curls around itself and goes cold. Deep down, he didn't believe Kane could override Chuck, didn't think it would work. Sure, Chuck is modded up heavily, is pretty much a cyborg, but that shouldn't mean someone can grab him by the brain like this.

“Interesting,” Kane says, looking thoughtful.

“You sick bastard,” Dutch says helplessly, and Kane turns and gives him a narrow-eyed look.

“I know you boys aren't very bright,” he says, “but you should try to remember that the more you disrespect me, the more your friends will pay for it.” He turns back to Chuck and backhands him as Mike yells in fury. Sick guilt mixed with rage washes over Dutch and he clenches his teeth to keep from saying anything else he shouldn't.

Bent with the blow, Chuck twitches, makes a stuttery noise, and straightens up again, a lot less smoothly this time. His shoulders look tighter, his stance more tense, but when Kane orders him to raise his left arm he does it immediately, as far as the chain will allow.

“Faulty piece of trash,” Kane says, and turns his back, walking over to the interface on the wall and tapping something in.

The shackles around Chuck’s wrists open, and his left arm stays in the air, shaking slightly with muscle strain as the right one drops to his side. Other than that he doesn't move as Kane paces back to him.

“Arm down,” Kane says, and Chuck obeys. He stands still under Kane’s gaze, not even moving to put his dick away, which has to feel hideously vulnerable with Kane so close.

“Get yourself hard,” Kane says, like that isn't a sick thing to say to a prisoner.

Chuck’s hands jerk and twitch as they move, one to grab his dick, the other to curl around his balls, but he obeys Kane. Little gasps and sighs come out of him as his hands work. He's a lot quieter like this. Dutch liked how loud he was before, when Mike was working on him before Kane turned the collar on again, which is definitely a messed up thought to even have right now, but who cares? It's not like it makes this any worse. Dutch’s thoughts don't make a shred of difference, any more than anything he could say or do. He wants to not be here, and wanting it doesn't change a thing.

Mike makes a hissing noise, and when Dutch looks over every muscle is tense and straining as Mike pulls against his shackles, face dark with rage. Dutch has never seen him crazed like this before. It's... worrying.

“Mike,” he says softly, and dark eyes flick to his face for a moment and return to fix on Kane’s broad back, barely acknowledging him. Okay, scratch ‘worrying’; that's terrifying. The knot in Dutch’s stomach hardens, solidifies.

Texas jerks once at his own shackles and stops again with a muffled grunt of pain. God, Dutch hopes he hasn't messed himself up too bad.

Chuck gets hard about as fast as anyone could expect in a situation like this, and Kane orders him over behind Mike. Chuck’s movement stutters and catches as he walks, and Dutch has to wonder how many horrible things he's going to see today that he never dreamed of before. He's pretty sure Chuck under an override fighting orders so hard he's twitching all over is going to rank in his nightmares right up there with Mike all blank-faced and peaceful as he obeys Kane.

Mike’s eyes narrow as Chuck steps around him, and his lips pull back in a snarl, staring at Kane. “What do you think this is going to do? You're not getting anything from me, it doesn't matter what you try.”

“On the contrary,” Kane says, smiling, “I'm getting all the entertainment I want. Unit One, fuck Chilton.”

Standing behind Mike, Chuck’s whole body jerks. His hands twitch and lift and twitch again, he's moving like a robot halfway to the junkyard, and he makes little cut off noises like he wants to protest but can't. One bony, freckled hand comes to rest on Mike's hip, he steps in close, and then his hips are pushing forward in hitching jerks and Mike huffs like the breath was just punched out of him.

“Okay,” he says, sounding a little strained and breathless, “you kinda feel bigger this way, buddy. Pretty impressive.”

He's trying to _joke_ , trying to let his friends know that he's still okay, and Dutch wants to smile for him, joke back, but he can't. This whole thing is sick. Mike may be pretending to be okay, but he's not, and Dutch and Texas aren't, and Chuck sure as hell isn't. Dutch’s throat is so tight it's hard to breathe, his gut is a solid knot of anger and despair, and the tiny helpless noises Chuck makes as he rocks into Mike only twist everything tighter.

Mike's cheeks are flushed and he's getting hard again. Right, that part of the collar is still active. Dutch isn't sure if that's a good thing at this point or not. Feeling good is better than hurting, and it's probably better for Chuck’s sanity after this if at least he doesn't hurt Mike...

“You should be grateful, really,” Kane tells Mike. “I could do anything with him like this, make him do anything I want. I could make him beat your friends up while you watch. I could make him fuck _them_ , I'm sure you'd enjoy that. How desperate would you get, I wonder? Would you beg to have him doing this again if it meant he'd leave them alone?”

“You,” Mike pants, “if it meant _you'd_ leave them alone. If you think I'm gonna blame him for this you're nuts.”

“Hmm,” Kane says, amused. Smoothing his beard with a thumb, he moves over to Mike. “I think you'll have trouble keeping it separate after a while. If his fists are the ones hitting you, if he's the one coming in you, on you, leaving you a sticky, dripping mess, it won't take that long before you hate the sight of him.”

Dutch swallows. Mike's a stubborn guy, but after a while, that'd have to have an effect on even him.

“Yeah, no,” Mike says. “That's never gonna happen. Look, Abe, we all know you like listening to yourself talk, but no one else wants to hear your fantasies.”

Kane’s eyes narrow, but before he can speak, Chuck reaches for Mike’s dick, hips still pumping into him slow and steady.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Kane says, “don't touch that. If he wants a hand, he can ask for one.”

Chuck’s hand hitches and falls back to Mike's hip.

“And you'll be happy to help, right?” Mike says. “Yeah, not happening.”

Kane smiles and Dutch’s knotted-up stomach flips over. He's not sure how this can get worse, but he knows Kane can manage it easy.

“You're a slow learner, Chilton,” Kane says in a mild rumble. “You already offered to do what I wanted if I left your bot alone.”

“He's not a bot!” Mike snaps.

Kane ignores him. “It took me what, an hour? To make you offer me that of your own volition. And I haven't even been trying. If I decide to break you, you'll break. If I want you to beg for my touch, you will. You're defiant to a fault, but all I have to do is threaten your friends and you'll roll over. A bit pathetic, but very useful.”

Mike's lips tighten and he doesn't answer, and Dutch knows speaking up is the worst thing to do, but he can't stop himself. The helpless rage wells up and spills out his mouth. 

“You are a sick man,” he says. “You think wantin’ to protect your friends is pathetic? Sounds to me like a man who's never _had_ any friends, and no surprise. Look at you! The minute they said something you didn't like you'd be throwin’ ‘em in a cell until they said what you wanted to hear!”

Kane has turned to face him, brows drawn low and dangerous, and Mike is staring at Dutch with wild eyes, shaking his head with slight, desperate movements. Riding high on the wave of anger and adrenaline, Dutch doesn't care how much he pisses Kane off, serve the dickhead right for talking to Mike like that.

“I bet you've never been loyal like Mike in your life! You don't care about anybody but yourself! Mike is worth _twenty_ of you!” he finishes.

Kane watches him through narrowed eyes for a moment. Mike looks from Dutch to Kane and drops his head, breathing hard as Chuck keeps moving.

“Look,” Mike says, low and tight, and Kane cuts him off.

“No, I don't think so,” he says, still studying Dutch. “No deals this time, Chilton. However compliant you're willing to be for your friends’ sake, they're clearly unwilling to return the favor, which means punishing you for their mistakes is ineffective. It's time to be more direct.”

He turns to look at Texas, who's leaning back against the wall like he's finally worn himself out, turns back, and smiles slowly. Still glaring at Kane, Dutch clings to the fraying protection of his anger, but under it the cold suspicion is creeping in that he might have just messed up bad.

Kane turns his smile on Mike. “Well, I think I'll take this,” he says, and lifts his hands to the collar at Mike's neck. Mike tries to pull away and Kane grabs him by the hair to hold him still.

“What are you gonna do with it,” Mike says through clenched teeth.

“You have a very short memory,” Kane says, amused, as the collar comes away in his hand. “I told you already.”

Dutch swallows, the last of the anger swamped by a growing chill. At least once the collar’s on, he won't know what's going on and won't remember it afterwards… but when he's faced with that sharp, cruel smile from behind Kane’s beard, that doesn't seem like much comfort. Kane could do anything to him with that thing on and he wouldn't even struggle.

Kane steps over to him, raises the collar to Dutch’s neck and fastens it. Dutch jerks as a wave of want rolls over him. Holy crap, is that what Mike’s been dealing with all this time? 

“Seriously?” he says. “You're gonna leave that part goin’? Weird kind of punishment.”

“Dutch, don't,” Mike mutters.

Kane’s smile just broadens. “I think bending you over will be much more entertaining if you're moaning nicely the whole time,” he says, holding Dutch’s gaze. “The question is, should I let your loud friend do it, or enjoy you myself?”

Light-headed with terror, Dutch stares back, almost hypnotized. He doesn't really notice the faint gust of wind that brushes his cheek, but a second later there's a high zapping sound and a flash of green-white light and Kane staggers.

“ _What--_ ” he roars, turning, and Chuck--Chuck somehow has his _slingshot_ out, holy _crap._ He hits Kane with a second plasma bolt and Kane goes down, sprawling on his back, and doesn't get up again.

“Fucking bastard,” Chuck says in a shaky voice, and pulls carefully out of Mike with a choked-off moan as the slingshot disassembles itself again. “Trust him to take two shots to go down.”

“ _Chuck_ ,” Mike breathes, eyes fixed on Kane’s still form, “buddy, how--?”

“I programmed in a workaround to my override ages ago,” Chuck says, yanking his pants up and closed over his hard-on as he hurries to the interface and starts typing. “I just didn't dare trigger it until he was distracted for long enough. I'm sorry, Mike, I'm really, really sorry, I c-couldn't think of any other way to get loose--”

“You _planned_ that?” Dutch says incredulously, and as soon as he says it he sees the whole thing. “Oh my god, you _played Kane!_ _That's_ why you were lettin’ him see how scared of the override you were! Dang, man, that's crazy!”

“Yeah, well, I couldn't really see an alternative!” Chuck says in a shrill tone, shoulders hunched around his ears. “Believe me, I _looked!_ ”

“Hey,” Mike says, “it's okay, it worked. You did good, okay?”

“Yeah, man, I--yeah, I mean, now we can get out of here!” Dutch says, stomach curling uncertainly. “That took some real... quick thinking.” _Cold_ thinking, to go into it knowing what Kane would probably make him do and go through with it anyway. So much for _fragile_ ; Dutch had no idea Chuck could do something like that. He's not sure what to think, except that it feels really weird to have to be grateful for it.

“Real impressive,” he finishes a little lamely.

“Oh yeah,” Chuck says, voice wavering, “signing on to rape your best friend is very impressive.”

...Except it's still Chuck, so of _course_ he's messed up about it too. Well, crap, now Dutch feels guilty for that brief flash of revulsion. 

“Hey, _no_ ,” Mike says, “that is _not_ what just happened. You can't feel guilty about figuring out how to get us out of this!”

“I can when it involves that,” Chuck says tightly. “Everybody stand up straight and don't fall over.”

Dutch does his best, but he still sways when the shackles on his wrists suddenly open, dropping his arms to his sides. He catches his breath as the muscles protest the change in position, blood rushing back into them. It feels kind of like pins and needles, but more like pins and clubs, a growing, pounding ache from shoulders to fingertips that doesn't feel like it's going away quick. His fingers fumble, tucking his half-hard dick into his pants and getting them fastened. 

Across from him, Texas groans and stumbles forward, reaching up to his mouth with unsteady hands to grab the gag Kane put on him. Mike sways as the shackles fall away, catches his balance, and spares a glance for Kane, unmoving on the floor, before going for the pile of blue and white clothes that are all he's got in here.

He grabs the briefs and Dutch looks away as Mike hastily uses them to clean himself up, then tosses them into a corner. “We'll talk about it later,” he says, dragging on pants. “Tex, can you help me get Kane into those cuffs?”

Texas throws the broken gag on the floor, breathing hard. “Or Texas could just break his neck,” he growls in a hoarse voice, stepping towards Kane.

Mike’s head snaps up. “No,” he says, flat and hard. “We're not killers. He's the one who does that kind of stuff and calls it fine, not us. We'll lock him up in here so he can't get in the way while we get out of here, but we leave him alive.”

“Why?” Texas snaps, hands in fists. “After all the junk he just did, why the heck are we gonna let him get away with it?”

“We're not,” Mike says, pulling on the blue and white shirt and going over to him. “He'll pay for it eventually. But not like this.”

“Doesn't mean we couldn't leave him a souvenir or two,” Dutch says, eyes narrowed on the broad prone form. “Break an arm, maybe, so he can't touch anybody for a while--”

“No!” Mike snaps, and takes a breath. “ _He's_ the one that tortures people, that hurts them while they can't fight back. That's not us.” He looks at Dutch and Texas with sharp eyes, then down at Kane, lips tightening. “Come on, help me.”

Dutch joins him and Texas hauling Kane’s limp body off the floor and getting his wrists into the shackles Dutch was in. At least the Burners won't be the only ones with their wrists seriously bruised up, because Kane is hanging from his right now. The charred spots on his shirt look like he'll have some nice burns developing, too.

Mike is moving stiffly, limping worse than he was to start with. Texas’s wrists are scraped and battered, his mouth is bruised at the corners from that gag, and the look in his eye is a little crazy. Dutch’s wrists don't look so great either, and they feel worse than they look. Using his arms hurts, all the muscles burning, and the collar is still sending surges of pleasure and need through him, making for a really weird contrast.

Chuck has two other screens up now as he types in a frenzy, working on that interface.

“What’ve you got for me, Chuckles?” Mike says, pulling on shoes.

“I think I've disabled his voice commands in this cell,” Chuck says, “so he shouldn't be able to get out by himself. And--the door’s open,” he adds with a relieved breath, dropping his screens.

“Okay. Can you get that collar off Dutch?”

“Ahaha I don't _know_ ,” Chuck says, waving his hands distractedly, “I don't--lemme look at it.”

Dutch steps over and holds still while Chuck brushes back his bangs to peer at the collar. He raises a hand to touch one spot and hisses in annoyance, raises a screen and types for a minute, two minutes, while Dutch tries not to jitter and Mike and Texas wait tensely.

“I can't even bring up the stupid control panel,” Chuck says after another endless minute. “It's gonna take some work, guys, sorry.”

“We gotta move,” Mike says, biting his lip. “You okay, Dutch?”

Dutch takes a breath and nods. Man, trying to escape with a tent in his pants is going to be real fun. He'll manage, though.

“Cool,” Mike says, flashing him the edge of a smile. “Let's go, guys.”

Getting out is… an experience. Chuck is the only one with a weapon, and he runs with his slingshot out. Mike and Texas take care of the guards Chuck doesn't get to, both of them flipping and dodging and punching like they aren't aching and bruised, and Dutch calls Julie while they're hurrying down a corridor. 

“Dutch!” she says, relieved and intense. “Where are you guys?”

“Uhh, we just passed cell block C-15,” Dutch says. “You got no idea how glad I am you picked up, we weren't sure you got away!”

“Holograms are handy like that,” she says. “Can you make it to the east exit of the detention complex? I can pick you up there, but security is tight, I don't have authorization to get very far in.”

Chuck is pulling up a map even as she speaks. “We're not that far away, I think we can make it!”

“ETA?” Dutch asks him.

“Uh, maybe seven minutes if we don't hit any trouble.”

“Got it,” Julie says. “Uh, Dutch, are you okay?”

Eyes widening, he wonders for a crazy second if she somehow knows what's happened, what they've been dealing with the last few hours, but no, she looks puzzled. Hell, she can't tell he's hard, can she? No, she can't see lower than his chest onscreen, and sure he's breathless and probably kind of flushed, but they've been running, that's not weird. She can't know anything, Dutch isn't showing any of it.

“Uh, yeah! All good,” he says.

She frowns but nods. “Okay, see you in seven minutes.”

Then, of course, they run into trouble.

By the time they get away from the squad of guards, Mike’s been shot, a nasty laser-burn across one arm, he's limping a lot worse than before, and Chuck is swearing in a high, cracked voice. Dutch really misses his omnitool, he hates being the only useless guy in a fight, but they don't exactly have the leisure right now to go find where their stuff was put.

They come tearing out the east door of the complex and for a heart-stopping second Dutch thinks the couple minutes they lost were crucial, Julie had to take off without them. Then they hear Nine Lives’ engine start and zoom towards them, and the hologram that makes the car invisible comes down as it pulls up right in front of them.

Mike dives for the passenger seat without discussion and the other three pile into the back seat pretty much on top of each other.

“Hey, guys,” Julie says, and takes off before they can even sit up.

“Man, is it good to see you, Jules,” Mike says.

“Same back at--Mike, are you _bleeding?_ Get the first aid kit out of the glove compartment. Is anybody else hurt?” she asks the back seat.

“Only slightly crushed,” Chuck groans, wriggling out from under Dutch and Texas, then getting thrown onto Dutch as the car takes a high-speed turn.

“ _Ngh_ , yeah, fine,” Dutch says breathlessly. He's not hurt aside from his abused wrists, just incredibly hard, overheated and really distracted. Having the other two sprawling all over him is not helping.

“Kane stole Texas’s hat,” Texas growls. He's not even making an effort to get off Dutch, the guy is practically in his lap. It is _not great_ for lowering his distraction level. Maybe Texas is too annoying for Dutch to make a habit thinking about like he does Mike and Chuck, but he's still an incredibly built guy, and it's hard not to appreciate all that sculpted muscle when it's right in Dutch’s face.

“Oh, _seriously?_ ” Chuck snaps. “After all the shit he did, you're complaining about your _hat?_ ”

“Guys,” Mike says, voice a little strained as he fixes up his laser-burn, “cool it.”

“Mike,” Julie says, and she sounds weird. Dutch looks up from struggling upright under Texas to see her staring at Mike for a long second before she looks back at the road.

He looks at Mike himself, bruised face and messy hair and--a darkly bruised ring of toothmarks at the base of his neck. Shit. That's going to be hard to explain away.

“As soon as we get home, you guys are going to tell me what happened,” she says, and then the car is jerking and veering as Julie deploys her holograms to confuse the squad of Kanebots firing at them.

Dutch swallows hard. The collar is sending waves of pleasure and want through him, which feels really weird when his stomach is tying itself in a knot at the thought of having to tell everything to Julie. Sure, her dad tries to kill them all pretty often, but the stuff he did in there seems… different from that. 

“Is that up for debate?” Mike says, just loud enough to hear over the laserfire and the roar of the engine. “Cuz personally I'd rather not. We're out now, so it's fine.”

“Bullshit it's fine!” Chuck says, high and shrill, and Mike breathes out through his teeth.

“Chuckles, stop it, it wasn't your fault.”

“I tricked him into part of it, of course that was my fault!”

“No,” Julie says in a hard voice, “it's not up for debate.”

“Jules,” Mike says, “you don't--I don't think--”

“ _Mike_ ,” she snaps back, and oh boy this car is not big enough for three people yelling.

Dutch has absolutely no intention of getting in the middle of that, but the car veers again and Texas’s side is suddenly pressing against his hard-on and the moan comes out without him meaning it to. There's an abrupt startled silence.

“Dang it, Texas,” he says, breathing hard.

“Crap,” Chuck says, “the collar--I'm sorry, dude, let me see if I can get it now.”

“‘S fine,” Dutch gasps, “don't worry about it, but yeah, that'd be great. Texas, can you, uh…”

“Right, Texas got this,” Texas says, and instead of moving away, shifts until he's straddling Dutch’s lap, one broad palm cupping the bulge in Dutch’s pants.

“ _Nnh!_ ” Dutch says. “Man, that is _not_ what I hh _hhah!_ Hah, had in mind!”

Texas blinks at him, and man, at this range his eyelashes are really thick, longer than Dutch realized. “Sure, okay,” Texas says, “but it's good though. Texas knows what he's doin’. What, you don't want me to stop, do you?” His hand rubs once and Dutch groans, hips twitching into it.

“ _Ahh_ ,” he says, not quite managing words. He's not sure what he'd say anyway, everything is so messed up right now. They're in Julie’s car and everyone's upset and his body wants it, yeah, but Dutch can't tell if _he_ does or if he just wants to stop feeling like this.

“Oh my god,” Chuck says, half a whimper. His screens are up again, but his typing is sporadic, about as distracted as Dutch is.

“ _Tex_ ,” Mike says. He doesn't often order the Burners around, but there's no ignoring that tone of voice.

Texas twitches, huffs, and pulls his hand away. “So?” he says belligerently, glaring at Dutch.

“Nngh,” Dutch says, and stares at him. Texas’s hair is everywhere without his hat, his jaw juts mulishly, and his pupils are blown. Maybe it's leftover adrenaline, maybe he's just looking for a distraction or trying to be helpful, who knows. But he's giving Dutch a choice, even if it's at Mike’s command and in a very Texas way, and that makes a difference. Everything’s crazy and weird right now anyway, might as well give in to it, have _something_ feel good.

Taking a breath, Dutch says, “Yeah, okay,” and gasps when Texas nods in satisfaction and gropes him.

Mike blows his breath out.

“If you boys get my car all sticky, you're cleaning it up,” Julie says, voice tight.

“We're not gonna,” Dutch pants as Texas starts rubbing, “won't go that far.” Not with everybody in here, he'll just let Texas take the edge off until they get back. “And uh, it's the collar, ‘s not--I'm not--” --he's not some weirdo who gets turned on by getting locked up and shot at and stuff, this isn't his fault!

“It stimulates arousal,” Chuck says to Julie, still kind of high-pitched. “And it looks like he locked it to his fingerprint or voiceprint or something. Totally not uncrackable,” he adds to Dutch, “I can get around it, but it might be a while. Sorry, dude.”

“ _Mm_ \--’s okay, whatever,” Dutch says. At the moment it's hard to care,Texas’s hand feels great.

The car shoots out of the Deluxe sunlight and into the darkness of an access tunnel. Julie deploys one more set of holograms and lures the last two Kanebots to slam full speed into a pillar.

“Okay,” she says in a dangerously level tone. “I'm not going to ask why the hell you've got on a thing like that, especially given that the answer is pretty obvious.”

Crap, and that's the thing, isn't it. No matter how much Dutch wants to protect her, she's smart enough to figure out the gist on her own from the available evidence, and it's not going to help anything to try and hide it from her.

“Mike,” she goes on, “the backpack by your feet has--did you get shot _twice?_ ”

“Uh, kinda,” Mike says, looking down at his thigh. Damn, that's why he was limping more. Dutch didn't realize. “It'll wait till we get back, it's fine, I took a painkiller.”

“Mike, you can take care of it, I don't care if I see your underwear.”

Chuck lets out a squeaky little sigh and Dutch winces.

“I--yeah, um,” Mike says. “That'd be great, if I was wearin’ any.” He sounds a little sheepish and a little tight, angry.

“Ah,” Julie says after a minute, flatly. “Of course. Stupid me.”

Texas is the only one who doesn't wince at that.

“Jules,” Mike says, low-voiced, “don't.”

“Don't what, Mike,” she says, and her voice vibrates with the effort to stay even. “Don't be a little disturbed by what a sicko my father is? Don't be upset over--what he _did_ to you all?!”

Mike hunches down in his seat. “We did okay,” he mutters, and Julie doesn't answer.

Dutch hates it. He hates that Mike and Julie are both hurting, that Julie has to deal with knowing the kind of crap her dad can do, and he hates Kane for being the kind of man who would do it. He hates it, and he's still seriously turned on, the collar hasn't stopped doing its thing, and he keeps remembering Mike’s mouth on him, and the way Texas is grinding against him now feels really good, and it's all a tangle inside him that puts his head in a kind of weird place.

Which might explain why instead of letting the painful subject drop, he says, “Yeah, we did. And Mike especially did real good, right, guys?”

“Heck yeah!” Texas says.

“Yeah,” Chuck says quietly, “he did.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Mike says, twisting in his seat to frown back at them. His face flushes as he takes in Texas on Dutch’s lap and what they're doing.

Texas rocks against him and Dutch groans, ashamed and embarrassed and hoping this doesn't bother Mike too bad because he's not sure he can stop. Hands tightening on Texas’s hips, he breathes in, goes for it. “That whole time,” he tells Mike, “you were lookin’ out for us, takin’ the heat yourself, tryin’ to protect us. You did good, man. It was impressive.”

“Wha--no!” Mike says. “It didn't work! Maybe it would've been impressive if I'd _succeeded_ , but I didn't. You guys were the impressive ones; you'd never dealt with him at close range like that before, but you held up really well, you kept it together. You guys did great, all of you.” He meets Dutch’s eyes, smiles a little at Texas, who's frowning over his shoulder at Mike, and looks over at Chuck to include him.

“Mikey,” Chuck says in a low voice, eyes hidden behind his bangs, “you can't blame yourself for him being a bastard. That's what he's like. You can't reason with him, and you can't bargain because he never keeps his promises. All you can do is try to contain the damage. And you did that, you--you were amazing,” he finishes, voice cracking miserably.

Mike is frowning in distress, mouth open. He's still blaming himself, Dutch guesses, and torn between arguing and trying to comfort Chuck. Dutch cuts in before he can decide, because he needs to be set straight just as much as Chuck does.

“Yeah,” Dutch says, trying to be coherent when he's really starting to want his pants off except not here, not in Julie’s car, but god he wants _more_. “Yeah, seriously, man, stop it, none of that was on you. Look, if we'd just kept our mouths shut from the beginning, we wouldn't have gotten that much of his attention, I'm pretty sure.” He glances over at Chuck, whose mouth tightens as he nods.

“Yeah,” Texas puts in, “guess you all shoulda been gagged. _Texas_ sure didn't get any attention, and I'm the guy that coulda _handled_ it!”

Dutch bites his lips not to say anything dumb about the _kind_ of attention Texas missed out on. It's seriously messed up that he can even _think_ ‘ _You're just jealous Mike didn't have to suck you off’_ and he shoves the thought away as fast as he can.

“Yeah, maybe,” he says hastily, “I mean, I wouldn't even be wearin’ this thing if I hadn't gone off at him. _Mnh_. That's--you did everything you could, okay? We don't blame you for any of that.”

Mike's frown fades as he studies Dutch, a flush still on his cheeks. “Okay,” he says softly after a minute. “Okay.” He smiles, lopsided and not very believable. “But then--Chuck, you gotta stop blaming yourself too, okay? You got us _out_ of there, that's kind of important.”

Chuck’s fingers pause in their frantic typing and he hunches further. “Yeah, by manipulating him into--”

“Yeah, and it _worked!_ ” Mike says.

Chuck doesn't unhunch, mouth twisted miserably.

“Look,” Mike says. “It's messed up that you had to do that. I'm sorry I couldn't find a better way.”

Chuck’s head comes up in shock as Dutch’s mouth drops open, and Texas huffs, “Aw, come _on_ , Tiny--”

“No, I _am_ , I'm sorry,” Mike insists. “It was messed up, but the whole situation was messed up! That's what he _does_. I just don't want… We can't let him mess _us_ up, okay?” He looks from face to face, ending with a hesitant glance at Julie, silent in the driver's seat. Dutch leans over a little to see around Texas to her, but she's facing forward, he can't see if she reacts.

“We're still a team, right?” Mike goes on. “I mean, we did pretty good in there, working together, turning around all the stuff he tried so it worked for us.”

Dutch swallows, bucking against Texas. _Worked for us_ kinda sounds like, like maybe Mike genuinely doesn't mind having sucked Dutch and Chuck off, which means maybe later--oh wow, _no_ , Dutch has to cut this out, being this turned on is messing with his head. He can't perv on Mike right now, not after all this. They're all gonna need some time to recover before they can figure out what kind of stuff might be okay to try, if… if Mike's even actually interested. If he wasn't just making the best of a bad situation. Which, to be fair, they all were.

“Yeah, for a while,” Chuck mutters. “But we couldn't do anything to help _you_ when you needed it. When--when he...”

Mike’s expression closes and he turns away to face forward again. “It wasn't a big deal,” he says. “I handled it.”

Chuck makes an unhappy noise. “Well, _yeah_ , but--”

“That's a load of crap,” Texas bursts out, half turning in Dutch’s lap, “Mike, you couldn't even _look_ at us! He was messin’ with your head, and that ain't okay!”

Mike hunches his shoulders and doesn't look back at Texas. “I'm _fine_.”

“Guys, lay off,” Julie says unexpectedly. Mike gives her a startled, uncertain look, and for a moment there's an uncomfortable silence, just the roar of Nine Lives’ engine filling their ears.

Dutch licks his lips. Texas is moving erratically against him, tan face flushed across his cheekbones, mouth open as he pants, black hair feathering everywhere. It's hard to concentrate, but Dutch thinks he's got the edge of something important and he's got to point it out.

“Y’know,” he says breathlessly, “he was tryin’ to split us apart. He wanted us mad, and blamin’ each other, and-- _mmh_ Mike, I think he wanted to change what we thought of you. He wanted us to think _less_ of you after all that, instead of like, bein’ real impressed how you kept tryin’ to look after us and stuff. So--he wanted to mess us up way more than he did. I mean, we kinda _won_ , man! We beat him!”

“Not sure I'd go that far,” Chuck mutters, but Mike’s head is turned just enough that Dutch can see his expression change, eyes narrowing as he thinks it over.

“Huh,” he says, and laughs a little, less amusement than realization as his shoulders loosen from their hunch. “You're right. We kind of did.”

“We beat him,” Dutch pants, “and like you said, we're still a team, and we're not gonna let him mess us up. Yeah?”

“Yeah!” Texas says fiercely.

“Yeah,” Chuck says much quieter, after a minute, but he sounds serious.

“You got that right,” Julie says in a hard, determined voice.

Mike slumps in his seat, lets out a single breath of laughter and a long sigh, and says, “I love you guys. You're amazing.”

Warmth washes through Dutch and he grins helplessly, then groans as Texas grinds up against him again.

“Yeah well,” Texas says hoarsely, “right back atcha, Tiny.”

“What he said,” Julie says, sounding amused, if still a little off.

Chuck just squeaks, but it's easy to translate.

“Yeah,” Dutch gasps. He's not sure if they all mean that _love you_ as much as he does, is pretty sure Mike meant _like friends_ , but that's okay. There's time to figure it all out when they aren't so messed up.

The car slows and Dutch recognizes the pattern of the lights flashing across the interior as Nine Lives passes. Muscles he didn't realize were still tensed start to unclench; they're almost home.

“Oh,” Julie says, “Mike, check the backpack by your feet.”

He leans forward, hissing very quietly with pain, and hoists the backpack onto his lap, opens it. Goes still a second before laughing aloud in delight.

“Jules!” he says, pulling out a familiar orange-trimmed jacket. “Holy crap, I could kiss you!”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Julie says wryly. “Keep looking.”

Mike paws through the backpack and whoops, pulling out the skull of his spark staff. “Guys, your weapons are in here! And uh, Tex, your hat might be a little bent, sorry buddy, but here it is!”

“Heck yeah!” Texas says, taking it and immediately putting it on. Dutch is kinda disappointed. Texas without the hat looked weirdly undressed, it was sexy.

“Dang, girl, we owe you,” Dutch says. It's a massive relief to have his omnitool in reach. Rationally, he knows nothing’s going to attack them in the hideout, but right now that's not really enough.

Julie makes a tight noise. “Yeah, and on the other hand, _I'm_ fine, so let's just call it even.”

“Hey,” Mike says softly.

“And we're home,” Julie says before he can say anything else, and they pull up in the garage.

The engine turns off and for a moment the quiet is deafening. Texas is still shifting against Dutch, restless and good and not enough, and Chuck is still typing away trying to hack Dutch’s collar. Mike is staring at Julie, who's not looking at him.

“You're not really fine,” Mike says in a low voice.

“Really, Mike?” she says, with a crack of angry laughter. “You want to have a conversation about who's fine and who's not?”

Mike breathes out through his nose. “All right,” he says, clipped. “I'm not fine. But I _will_ be, okay, I'm not--he didn't _break_ me.” He glances over his shoulder, uncertain eyes catching Dutch’s.

“Yeah, man, we know,” Dutch assures him, and then catches a groan behind his teeth, hips jerking against Texas’s.

Mike hastily looks away from them and Chuck adds in a low voice, “You're pretty tough, Mikey. But you don't have to break to be hurt.”

Twitching a shoulder in acknowledgement, Mike looks back to Julie and says quietly, “It doesn't always show, either. But your friends can see that kinda thing.”

Julie takes a minute to answer. “Yeah, okay,” she says reluctantly, “but… I'm not--we're not talking about me right now.”

“We're not talking about _anyone_ right now,” Mike corrects, opening his door, “cuz I gotta go take care of my leg and get rid of all this blue and white! I'll drop the backpack in the diner booth, guys.” He steps out, closes the door, and strides away fast, still limping badly.

Julie turns and sweeps an intense gaze across the boys in the back seat. “How bad was it?” she says, quiet and tight.

“Pretty bad,” Chuck mutters, and Dutch rolls his eyes and huffs as Julie’s jaw sets.

“Come on, man, she _knows_ that! _Nnh_ \--Texas, god.” He tries to focus, despite the fact that Texas is grinding with purpose now. “He didn't touch us, he was only messin’ with Mike.”

Julie takes a slow breath and opens her mouth, frowning, but Chuck gets there first.

“Actually, better question!” he says, and Dutch doesn't like that tone at all, this is not the time for sniping at each other-- “Why are you asking? Is it so you know enough about what happened to field the results better, or so you can beat yourself up with the details as some kind of fucked-up punishment for being related to him?”

Julie stares at him, her face twisting with anger. “ _Screw_ you,” she snarls. “I have a right to know! He's--I have a responsibility to you guys and I have to--” She cuts herself off, breathing hard and shaky, then abruptly climbs out of the car and strides away at a near-run, head down.

“Oh my god, Chuck,” Dutch mutters.

Chuck hunches, his vindicated look shifting rapidly into dismayed guilt. 

“Man, if you didn't want to talk about it, you could've just said,” Dutch says. “I'll give her the basic outline if she wants it--”

“No!” Chuck yelps. “She'll hate me!”

“No she won't,” Texas says before Dutch can answer, “cuz that's dumb and Cindy ain't dumb. She's glad we're out, you got us out, so she ain't gonna hate you.” He rolls his hips against Dutch’s.

“What he said,” Dutch gasps, arching up into him. “You're the only one holding it against you, man. Let it go.”

“I can't,” Chuck says very low. “I shouldn't have been willing to let him--to do that, it's--you don't think it's kind of _sick?_ ”

Texas snorts. “You weren't tryin’ to mess with Mike, you were tryin’ to get us out. So _no_ , duh.” He pauses, looking over at Chuck with a tight twist to his mouth. “‘Sides, if you hadn't, he was gonna make Texas screw Dutch. You wanna talk sick, that's _mega_ -sick, coulda hurt the little guy bad.” He pats Dutch on the hip, and Dutch is too startled to point out that he's like eight inches taller than Texas and the _opposite_ of little. Of course Texas wouldn't want to do that to him, Dutch knows they're friends, it's just--the guy's usually so bad at thinking of other people, for not hurting Dutch to be the concern first out of his mouth is kind of a shock.

Texas rocks his hips again, licking his lips. “So, uh. Thanks, I guess,” he finishes, and Chuck stares at him, poleaxed.

Dutch can't blame him at all, but Texas proves the conversation is over by abruptly going for Dutch’s belt and Dutch is preoccupied yelping and grabbing for muscular wrists. Texas hisses and Dutch loosens his grip on bruised, abraded skin, but the tug of his belt against his waist echoes the recent sense memory of bigger, thicker hands, drawing a stab of panic in its wake, not to mention--

“We're in Julie’s car, man! You can't wait five minutes to get somewhere _private?_ ”

“Shyeah, no,” Texas retorts, hips grinding so the grip on his wrists loosens further as Dutch whimpers. “And neither can you.”

“ _Ah_ \--but--Chuck!” He looks over, desperate to get off, but almost as desperate not to subject Chuck to anything else he didn't choose today.

Chuck’s face is very red and he's focused intently on his screens. “If I move away I'll lose connection to the collar and all my progress will be gone. I have to stay in proximity, safer not to leave the car.”

“Safer,” Dutch says, staring at him, and Chuck hunches a little more.

“Or, I… five feet is probably safe,” he mumbles, and reaches for the door.

“No,” Dutch says, grabbing his elbow, “it's--you're okay. Yeah?” he asks Texas, who nods briefly.

“Seriously?” Chuck says.

Dutch has time for a breathless snort and shrug _why not_ before Texas says, “Yeah, okay, let's do this,” and undoes Dutch’s belt and pants, freeing Dutch’s dick.

“ _Nngh_ ,” Dutch says, head tipping back in relief.

Texas unzips his own jumpsuit, pulls out his hard-on and nudges forward, rubbing it against Dutch’s so Dutch gasps. “Yeah?” Texas says. “Can Texas--?” he wraps a hand around both of their dicks, dark eyes on Dutch’s face.

“Oh _god_ ,” Dutch pants, “yeah, go for it, man.”

Texas slides his palm over the slick, dripping heads, tightens his grip a little, and starts stroking at a quick pace. Dutch shudders and puts a hand on Texas’s abs, sliding his undershirt up. The guy’s muscles are just crazy.

Shoulder brushing against Dutch’s, sitting beside him, Chuck makes a quiet shivery noise that makes Dutch bite his lip. “A-anyway,” Chuck says in a hurry, “I didn't know you two, uh, liked each other…?”

“Yeah, well,” Texas says, panting, “Dutch is hot and Texas ain't blind.”

Dutch groans and bucks into his hand, because _oh_ , that's nice. An outlet for adrenaline is one thing, but it's kind of a thrill to think this might be about Dutch too.

“And,” Texas adds, “like… it woulda been bad if it'd gone like Kane meant it to. But that doesn't mean it's _gotta_ be bad, Texas is better than that. Yeah?” he says, and there's something uncertain in his eyes as they meet Dutch’s.

Holy crap, does Texas actually _like_ him? Was he watching Dutch back in that cell like Dutch was watching Mike, turned on and horrified at the same time?

“Yeah,” Dutch agrees, and Texas brightens, hand moving faster.

“And, uh,” Dutch adds to Chuck, breathless, “I kinda--have a weakness for Burner guys. Apparently.”

Chuck’s head whips around to face him. “Wha--you, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dutch says.

Chuck’s mouth opens, his hands go still on his screen, and when he licks his lips Dutch is hypnotized.

“Oh,” Chuck says, flushed cheeks going darker. “ _All…_?”

“ _Yeah_ , man,” Dutch says, smiling a little. Everything is shaken and strange right now, and even Texas’s unexpected sweetness has only done so much to shift the helpless chill Kane left in his gut, but the shocked hopeful look on Chuck’s face--that's a good thing too. That helps.

It takes a moment for Chuck to react. When he twitches, chin coming up and head reaching forward just a little before he stops himself and hunches again, Dutch leans over, because waiting for Chuck to nerve himself up to make the first move won't get them anywhere. Chuck makes a soft breathy noise into the kiss, and it's really, really nice.

Then Texas huffs and rubs a thumb over the tip of Dutch’s dick and Dutch yelps into Chuck’s mouth and pulls away, hips jerking.

“Texas!” he gasps, more startled exclamation than reproof.

“You can't give Skinny smooches and leave Big Texas out,” Texas says.

Dutch has his mouth open to say hotly that he can kiss Chuck if he wants to, and then the rest of the sentence gets through. “I--uh, you want kisses?”

“Uh, _chyeah_ ,” Texas says pointedly.

Dutch smiles, slow and startled. Looks like maybe Texas _does_ actually like him, wow.

The pleasure from the collar blends in with the waves of want running through him, the need building as Texas strokes them both, and he's getting close, and he didn't think Texas would go in for kissing but that the guy really wants him feels _good_ , warm in his chest and the pit of his stomach. Pulling Texas’s hat off, he shoves his hands into Texas’s hair and kisses him, and it's surprisingly not bad at all, especially when Texas groans against his lips and goes stiff, hips twitching up into his own hand.

His dick jerks against Dutch’s and Dutch gasps at the sensation, shuddering, riding the edge as Texas comes. Texas’s hand stutters and slows a little too soon, and Dutch moans in complaint, reaching down himself when a pale, bony hand knocks both his and Texas’s aside.

“I--I can--” Chuck says, red-faced, and jacks Dutch with a quick, firm touch that has him coming a few endless, astonished seconds later.

Chuck strokes him through the aftershocks, then lets go when Dutch gasps with overstimulation. Panting, Dutch slumps against the back of his seat. 

That sure was a thing the three of them just did. He's all warm and fuzzy now, afterglow is amazing. He thinks he wants to kiss Chuck and Texas more, soon. He never thought Chuck might be into him, never imagined _Texas_ would, didn't even know he himself _wanted_ Texas, honestly. That both of them want _him_ , especially at the same time, is kind of blowing his mind.

Texas is breathing just as hard as Dutch is, head hanging. Wiping his hand on the leg of his jeans, Chuck goes back to typing, but Dutch notices he's smiling a little as he nibbles on his lip.

Dutch’s shirt is kind of a sticky mess, and his pants and Texas’s jumpsuit got spattered too. Fortunately, it looks like the back seat only got a spot or two, which Dutch mops up so no one has to hide from Julie’s wrath.

Dutch wonders what the chances are of getting to his room to change without running into Mike or Julie. Maybe Chuck will agree to go first and let him know. ...Probably not.

The collar is going just as strong as ever. It's not a physical touch, so it doesn't hurt in that too-much way, it just feels like one round of sex wasn't enough and he's somehow still horny. He's got to hope Chuck can get the dang thing off before it gets him all worked up again.

“Mngh,” Texas mumbles, and lifts his head to kiss Dutch. Startled but pleased, that warmth in his chest growing a little stronger, Dutch kisses him back.

When he pulls back, Dutch gives him a shy smile and says, “Thanks.” It sounds kind of lame to him, but Texas grins back, tucking himself away again and climbing off Dutch’s lap. Dutch takes the opportunity to put himself back together.

“Hey, Texas is totally up for lending a hand anytime, dude,” Texas says. “Or, you know, like, other stuff too. Wha-cha! Texas is an _expert_ at this junk. At junk-handling, haha, _yeah_ Texas! You need any lessons, Skinny, hit me up,” he adds to Chuck, grabs his hat, and is out the door, apparently completely unconcerned by the state of his clothing. Of course, because it's Texas.

“Lessons,” Chuck mutters.

“You don't need lessons,” Dutch assures him, and Chuck’s little smile comes back.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, Dutch slowly easing down from the sex high, Chuck diligently hacking.

“Hey,” Dutch says. His stomach twists uncomfortably on him, but he's gotta say it. “I'm really sorry I got you hit. Shoulda kept my dumb mouth shut.” He can see the bruise from Kane’s backhand coming up on the side of Chuck’s face, the marks of knuckles down his cheek.

“When--oh,” Chuck says, and snorts. “Right, dude, of everything people are blaming themselves for right now, that's totally a big deal you should feel bad about.”

That helps, but Dutch says firmly, “I can still apologize.”

Chuck glances sideways from behind his bangs, amused. “Yeah, okay. Apology accepted, I guess.” He nibbles his lip a minute, going pink, and says in a hasty mumble, “You could kiss it better if you wanted.”

Dutch grins. “Good plan,” he says, and leans over to brush his lips gently over the bruise.

Blush deepening, Chuck chews on his smile and hunches further over his screen.

“Hah!” he says finally, “ _Got_ it!” A smaller screen springs up and Chuck taps a few things. Dutch lets out a long sigh of relief as the pulses of pleasure and need cut off entirely.

“Okay, just… gimme a minute,” Chuck says absently, and Dutch waits patiently until the collar clicks open.

Letting out a long sigh, Chuck reaches up and takes it off him. “Now what the heck do we do with it?”

Dutch shrugs, rubbing his neck. “Stick it in a drawer and use it when you wanna get off fast, man, I dunno.”

“Dutch!” Chuck squeaks, fumbling and almost dropping it.

Snorting, Dutch gives him a little smile. “I don't care, man. Throw it away if you want. Destroy it, keep it, whatever. Just, uh, don't wave it around in front of Mike.”

“God, no _kidding_ ,” Chuck says, curls it up tightly and shoves it into his pocket. Then he goes still a minute, chewing on his lip. “What do we do about Mike?” he says softly, and when Dutch frowns at him, waves his hands kind of frantically. “After all the shit Kane did to him--how do we fix this?!”

Dutch licks his lips. “Not sure we can. We can have his back, and hug him when he needs it, whatever he needs, but… Might take him a while to be okay. Might take _you_ a while,” he adds gently. “I mean, heck, we all got kind of messed up today. Pretty sure even Texas ain't as normal as he looked just now.”

Chuck groans and rubs his hands over his face. “This sucks.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Dutch says. “ _And_ we survived and got out, and we'll figure out how to deal with it.”

Chuck takes a deep, shaky breath and drops his hands. “I should apologize to Mike,” he says, freckles standing out against his pale cheeks.

“Man, didn't you do that first thing back in the cell, the minute Kane went down?”

“That was a reflex, it doesn't count,” Chuck says impatiently. “Anyway, you heard him, he just brushed it off, he didn't even think about it.”

“Sorta,” Dutch says. “He told you not to feel guilty about it.”

“Which is stupid when unlike the rest of you, I actually _chose_ to let all that happen!” Chuck says. “I'm not gonna pretend I'm not responsible for it! _Don't_ ,” he adds when Dutch opens his mouth to argue. “I could have tripped the workaround to my override anytime and I _didn't_. I… _let_ him. Make me do that.”

Dutch bites back all the arguments sitting on the tip of his tongue, tries to figure out why Chuck’s saying this. Man, Dutch is so tired, body and mind wrung out, and his chest aches thinking of Chuck having to bear the guilt for the trick that got them all loose, but. He's at least partly right. Not the bit of him that's sunk in self-loathing over it, but the fact that he does bear _some_ responsibility, because he's right, he did have a choice.

“You did it,” Dutch says, speaking carefully, “because you decided gettin’ us outta there was more important than… what he was gonna make you do.”

Chuck folds over on the car seat, arms wrapping around his head and fingers digging into his hair. “Yes,” he says in a small, shaky voice.

Dutch swallows. “And I think you were right. And so does Mike, and even Texas, I'm pretty sure.”

“Okay, but that doesn't change the fact that I _hurt Mike_ ,” Chuck says, voice cracking. Dutch puts a hand on his back, helpless and kind of awkward, and some of the tension in him seems to ease.

“He _used_ you to hurt Mike, it's not like that was all you, but… yeah. Still a little, yeah,” Dutch says quietly.

Weirdly, that seems to help. Chuck blows out a shuddering breath and straightens up, scrubbing his hands over his face. “So, I should apologize.”

“Well. The thing is,” Dutch says, and nibbles his lip a minute, thinking how to say it. “Maybe you _ought_ to, yeah. But I think maybe you shouldn't, or you should hold off a while, anyway.”

Chuck frowns at him, bewildered, and Dutch sighs. “if I was Mike, right now,” he says, “I'd be all confused over how you _had_ to do that so we could get out, and I'd be assumin’… everything that happened under the override must’ve been--I dunno, necessary at least, maybe even a good thing, because it got us out. Not much room in there to think about if it hurt him. Especially not when he's comparin’ it to all the stuff Kane did himself.”

Chuck is not looking comforted, which makes sense, because all this crap is anything but comforting. “Mike isn't much good at thinking things over,” he mutters. “Especially not when he's feeling a lot. He's just going to stuff it all down and never think about any of this again.”

“Maybe that'll work for him and maybe it won't,” Dutch sighs. “What I'm sayin’ is, if you go and apologize for something he hasn't even figured out yet, he's not gonna take the apology, he's gonna argue with you and maybe even flip out about it, and neither of you need that. It's not… gonna fix things like you want it to, right now.”

“So, what, I should just pretend everything's _fine?_ ”

“ _No_ , man.” Dutch gives him a look. “I'm just sayin’, don't push him into a conversation there's no way he's ready for. Wait on it. Take your cues from him and in the meantime try not to beat yourself up.” He pats Chuck on the shoulder. “Think you can try that?”

Chuck groans, shoving a hand through his hair, and looks at Dutch. “I'll try,” he says in a low voice, and knocks his shoulder into Dutch’s, a little awkward but nice, comfort and gratitude at once.

Dutch ducks his head with the edge of a smile and bumps him back, a quiet warm glow in his chest. Then he sighs, stretching as much as he can without running into the roof or doors. Man, Julie’s car is _tiny_ , he's gotta get out before his limbs are stuck folded up like this.

“Geez,” he says, “I could seriously use a shower, a meal, and some first aid on these wrists. And you probably could too, man.”

“Right,” Chuck says, opening the door, and Dutch catches his elbow before he gets out.

“Uh. Sorry, but speakin’ of apologies,” he says reluctantly, “I think… you probably owe one to Julie.”

Chuck looks stricken, shoulders pulling in guiltily. “I know. I--god, I didn't mean--Dutch, did you, um, was she crying? Because if I made Julie cry I'm just gonna--”

“I don't know,” Dutch admits. 

“I was right, though,” Chuck mumbles, “I know I was, she was just going to use the details to hurt herself with, like any of it was her fault.”

“Maybe so,” Dutch says. “Pretty sure I can name somebody else who's been tryin’ something similar. And hittin’ her with it like that was kinda rough, man.”

“I know,” Chuck groans. “What do I _do?_ ”

Dutch thinks about it. “I think we ought to at least tell her the basics. _Not_ knowing has to be messin’ her up too. Then you can apologize for snappin’ at her.”

“Okay, but we ought to get straight what the basics _are_ first,” Chuck says, climbing out of the car.

“No, _first_ I'm changing clothes,” Dutch says, following him. “Then first aid--”

“Yeah, showers, food, yeah,” Chuck says. “Okay, your room, half an hour, I'll bring food?”

“Deal,” says Dutch, and they head out of the garage side by side.

**Author's Note:**

> I was uncertain about posting this, so if you enjoyed it I'd love if you left a comment to let me know what you liked!


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